CHAPTER 33

THE SHOCK OF THE HOLOCAUST 1945

When Allied troops marched into the Nazis’ hideous concentration camps in the late stages of the war, word of the immensity of the horror was released to the world. From newspapers and through radio broadcasts, we become aware of the unspeakable atrocities, the torture and deprivation, the gas chambers and mass graves. Now we know what became of our revered aunties and uncles, of Poldi’s beloved parents, and of so many other dear friends and family members. Each life was torn from a warm home and normal civilized existence, and taken to its doom. They and hundreds of thousands of others were thrust into the most unholy terror ever conceived. Innocent and unwary, they were tortured sadistically and murdered for no cause but their faith.

The photos in the papers reveal the extent of the unthinkable. Haunting faces glare back at us from images of living cadavers. Dull eyes, sunken within skulls covered by sagging skin, peer straight ahead. Toothless grins of the forsaken, their gold teeth having been extracted by their tormentors or fallen out from gum disease and malnutrition, reveal the undying spark of human hope, treasured and preserved even in a man-made purgatory. On their emaciated forearms tattooed numbers can be seen, seared into pallid skin, branding them like cattle for slaughter. American, Russian, and British troops are shown wading among piles of skeletons, and we are sickened. Only then do we comprehend our own good fortune, despite the hardships, having survived as we have done. Suddenly we feel guilty to have complained of our circumstances, ashamed of our comparative ease.

The accounts are precisely detailed. We find that we had only the briefest taste in Vienna of the barbarism of the Germans. We learn that every day some 20,000 naked starved humans, more than the Jewish population of Hongkew, were led into the gas chambers in Auschwitz alone, just one of the many camps scattered through Nazi-occupied territory. In all, six million Jews were murdered, more than the teeming masses of Shanghai. We look at the numbers in horror and disbelief and try to absorb the enormity of the sin, six million … six million … six million. How can this ever be understood?

Beyond the sheer volume of innocent wasted lives, we discover that simple murder was not sufficient for the Nazis. Sadism and bestiality were daily practice in the concentration camps, and as we read of the disgrace, we weep. They, our people, were drowned in cesspools, choking to death on their own excrement. They were violently raped, maimed, injected with poison, and observed as they died in distortions of agony, ripped apart by vicious dogs or electrocuted on barbed wire fences. Nothing was too cruel. And as we read and reread the words, we are left incredulous, unable to comprehend such hatred.

We, along with the others in the ghetto, listen to the frightening news of discovery as Allied troops enter one death camp after another and recoil from the horrors they must witness. We scan the newspaper photos with numb disbelief. Names are listed on boards, rows and rows of names of those senselessly slaughtered. We search for those whom we knew, especially Poldi’s parents.

We have begun to spend much more time now with Dolu and Eva as all of Shanghai is open again; we can move freely from Hongkew and the others can come through the open gates to visit us. The lists of those murdered in Europe have dredged up all the grief that we and especially Poldi and his brother had already endured. They speak of their parents with respect, reverence and, above all, love.

“We have searched through all the lists, again and again but haven’t found their names,” Poldi says, when he and Dolu return from another heart-wrenching search. Eva and I do our best to alleviate the sorrow. She pats Dolu’s hand when he sits down beside her.

“I don’t know if we’ll ever find out what really happened to them.” Dolu shakes his head in frustration and sadness. “These lists aren’t complete and the enormous number of victims is staggering.”

“After all we’ve been through, it appears that we had the easiest time of it.” Eva dabs her eyes with a handkerchief. “I can’t bear to think of all those who were tortured and burned alive like that and there was no one to stop it.”

“If I’d known what could happen, I would never have left them,” Poldi says, still tormenting himself with guilt. “I can still see Mama and Papa the way they looked the last time I saw them, the last time. I know I could have gotten them out if I had stayed behind in Vienna. They must have been sent to Dachau as we were told, but will we ever know for sure?”

“Poldi,” I say, trying to lift his spirits, “they wanted you and Dolu to go on and live your lives. Life in Shanghai has been a constant battle – they might have died here like Mama did. Your mother told me once, years ago, that things are beshert, you know, meant to happen in a certain way. She believed in the hand of fate. Allow them to rest in peace now. They deserve that at least.”

Grim-faced, Poldi and Dolu hang their heads. In the morning, they plan to go to the small synagogue where Poldi and I were married, to say Kaddish.

Already we have seen refugees attempting to bury the nightmares so deeply that they will never have to be faced. We are no different. We have vowed to ourselves not to tell the children we may nurture one day, nor anyone in the outside world, what we have suffered. No one needs to know. How else can we go on? If we have to relive it, we will all go mad. Better to let it go, to create a rock-hard shell, a protective fortress against all that has happened. Forget the torture, forget the Nazis, forget the cruelty of the Japanese. Forget it all.

All our energies are directed towards survival. Poldi and I are ready to concentrate on the prospect of a new beginning. Whenever a break has come in our lives we scan the global prospects. Where to go? Poldi has made inquiries about the possibility of leaving Shanghai. Throughout the war we often dreamed of returning to our homeland if the Nazis were ever defeated, a dream that sustained us during that hard time, but we realize that we can never return to Vienna. The cobbled pavements there are permanently stained with memories of brutality and hatred. Now that we have put that behind us, as much as possible, we are prepared once again to start anew.

We meet often with the others in the family and there is an excitement about our prospects. We have been stifled for so long and have so much pent-up energy that we are anxious to make our way to an improved life. At the same time we are caught once more in uncertainty. I ask Poldi, “Is there any news of where we might settle? Where should we apply?”

He shakes his head and says, to our amazement and distress, “It appears there is no country eager to let us in. For now, this remains our home, still … Shanghai.”